The Gift
by metameric1
Summary: A tale of things done for those we care about. Yes, some of the plot devices have been used before, but hey, it's my attempt. Daria models for Jane, with unexpected results...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV. This is fan fiction written for fun and entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged.

Rated T for mild sexual references, situations and alcohol related lapses of judgment.

_**The Gift**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Conversations and Revelations**_

_He's back late. It must be after 1 am._ Daria rolled over in the sleeping bag and tried to get settled in, but Jane's soft snoring paced the faint sounds of Trent moving around downstairs. That's the refrigerator door. And the basement door… something's bugging him. He'd normally be dropping into bed, not heading downstairs to practice.

A few minutes of some acoustic guitar playing drifted up through the heater vent in the corner_. He's been working on that song for a while now- it's coming together. It's a good tune; hope the lyrics aren't too crappy._

She listened as he worked through what would be the first two verses, but the pacing seemed off. He was pissed, and pushing it too fast. On the second verse, he tried a slightly different turnaround and dropped back into the refrain, and suddenly stopped. He hadn't bothered to finish.

The silenced stretched on, broken only by Jane's snoring. He must have laid down on that crappy basement couch and fallen asleep. That guy could sleep anywhere_. Dammit, now I can't sleep._ _I thought I was over this stupid crush._

She reached out and felt for her glasses, finding them in their usual safe spot under the edge of Jane's bed where they wouldn't be stepped on. Putting them on, she pulled her backpack over and dug out her secondhand copy of _The Gulag Archipelago;_ nothing like other people's misery to lull her back to sleep. Slipping out of the sleeping bag, she made her way to the stairs and down to the living room.

An hour later, she awoke to a tug as the book was gently slid from her fingers. She opened her eyes to see a blurry Trent leaning carefully over her. He had already placed her glasses on the table so she could sleep more comfortably.

"Sorry, I thought I could do this without waking you up." He'd done this before; he was such a sweet guy sometimes.

"Hey, Trent," she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips before she could stop it. "Couldn't sleep without reading..."

"Did I wake you up when I came in? Guess I could have been a little quieter that that."

"S'kay; wasn't sleeping well anyway." She began to reach for her glasses, but stopped. It was easier talking to him if she couldn't really see him that well. She considered for a brief moment, and surprised herself by pressing on. "Sounded like something was bothering you. You okay?"

She heard a dry chuckle and felt him settling in next to her. "God, you're so… observant." He took a drink from the beer he held in his hand. He swirled the bottle idly, and then set it down on the coffee table in front of them. "Typical Spiral gig. Thing is, I started wondering why the hell I was still playing the same crappy music I was three years ago. Nothing's changed. Feels like I'm beating my head against a wall or something."

"Well, I don't know. Your music has gotten better. That song you were working on, that's got a lot of promise_." He's hurting, and I want to help him. I care about him. Maybe he just needs to get something out of his system._

He looked at her for a moment.

"Yeah, and I'll throw some really lame lyrics together and the Spiral will kill it like it always does. We just suck, and we'll never progress any farther than a local bar band playing the same lame shit until people wise up and stop listening." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hung his head.

_Shit. What can I say? He's kind of right._ "Why is that? I hear you coming up with some interesting stuff, and yeah, it kind of slides into the Spiral sound. But you seem to keep going, and you put it out there. I see you create, coming up with good musical ideas, but when it gets put together, it's not the same thing."

"That's just it. Nobody seems to be really trying to help. Max and Nick just kind of show up and grumble, and blame each other for the lack of drive and energy. I mean, the drummer and the bassist- that's the foundation, you know? If it's not solid, what the hell can you build on? And Jesse- he's like, whatever. He just goes with it. He'd be happy just playing covers all night."

_Do I ask the obvious?_

"So why do you keep playing with the same people if it doesn't work? You've been saying for years that Nick's not cutting it, and Max can be such a pain in the ass that it always just turns into a pissing contest. Why not find another drummer and bassist?"

Trent fell silent.

_Damn, now I've gone and done it. Who am I to-_

Another dry chuckle. "Right as always, Daria. I guess it's because I've played with them for so long that I think of them as friends, and I can't bring myself to cut them loose."

_That I can understand. Trent's like Jane. Friends are taken seriously, and he's a loyal kind of guy. So he sticks with bandmates that are lacking in talent and commitment. He's grown, they haven't. But it happens. People change, their perspective can shift and they start to see things a little differently._

" I guess I'm bummed because I realized that since the time you and I talked on the way to Alternapalooza, I've been trying, and they haven't. I have this sense of obligation to the guys, but it's killing me. I mean, I can't be like this forever; look at you. You've grown so much since I met you, and you're going on to great things. Fantastic things. I'd like to try to do something like that."

_Somebody's talkative when he's been drinking._

"You're smart, creative as hell, a really good, strong person that sticks by what you believe in. You value your friends too, and even with this rough patch that you and Janey went through, you still have your friendship...even after that Tom asshole. You're a good person; you felt really bad for Janey and gave yourself more crap about it than anyone else. Fucking Tom. Lucky bastard, getting together with an amazing woman like you. Yeah, he's going places too. Not like me. I'd only hold you back, drag you down, I'd- you'd-" He pushed himself back into the couch, hands slapped over his face. "FUCK!" he groaned. "I mean- oh dammit."

_Well. Jane always said that he was honest when he was drunk._

Daria leaned forward and picked up the bottle. She looked closely at the amber liquid inside, watched the bubbles as the rose to the surface. It was something to do while she tried to keep her cool. _What, exactly, did that last slip mean? What other revelations will this half-inebriated conversation lead to?_ _What the hell, I can at least level things out. _She put the bottle to her lips, and took a pull. _At least now we both have beer breath. Not a bad taste, actually._

"Sorry. And hey, you shouldn't be- I'm a bad influence, aren't I?"

"It's illegal for an adult to buy alcohol for someone under 21 in this state, but you didn't buy this for me. Ergo, you didn't do anything wrong. I made the choice myself." _What the hell did you really mean by that anyway, Lane? Hold me back? Drag me down?_

"Sure about that?"

"That's my interpretation and I'm sticking to it. Besides, I'm not a minor." _Hell, I turned 18 a while back, and it's legal to drink at 18 in some states, right?_ "YouknowIbrokeupwithTomlastmonth." _Wow. Subtle. That had nothing at all to do with this conversation. I should have tried talking to him without my glasses before. It's easier this way._

"You have beautiful eyes, Daria."

_Crap. How much beer was left in that bottle?_

* * *

She let out a ladylike belch as she contemplated the empty bottle in her hand.

_No pain. Daria feels no pain. No shame either. _

"So I'm saying, your loyalty to your friends or your musical path. But it's not imposshible to handle this with some dishcretion. You don't throw them out of the band; you bow out and take time out to think on your future. And it would be the truth. You know, you sound great as an acoustic solo thingie. You sound fucking good, Trent, you can write great music. By yourself. Don' let the bastards fuck up your music; you're a good musician. Aaand don't _you_ fuck up your music with your lyrics. You kinda suck at that sometime. I'll write stuff for you, kay? Or at least let me look at your thingie. I mean your lyrics. Oh God."

"Daria, you're funny when you're drunk."

"Funny. I feel funny. Hey, I could sing with you. Lemme see your thingie. I mean your wee-oor- I mean your words and stuff. Shit, I need to shut up now. I almost said _weenie_. How stupid is that? I meant to say _cock_." She stopped, mouth open. She flushed crimson.

"No, keep talking," Trent laughed. "I'm reeealy learning a lot."

"Do me, Trent." She dropped her head onto his shoulder. _Should she nibble on his ear?_

"No, Daria, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do. I didn't sleep with Tom because he wasn't _you."_

There was a silence.

Her head still on his shoulder, he heard her quietly mutter. "Dammit."

"I'm not going to take advantage of you when you're in this condition."

"You don't want me, do you?" She pulled herself away from him and leaned into the corner of the sofa, drawing herself into a ball.

"Daria, stop it. "

"Nobody wants me." She was crying quietly. He'd never ever heard this sound before. He felt his stomach fall, and warning sirens going off in his head.

"Tom wanted you." _Can you think of something more stupid to say, Lane?_

"Tom was an asshole, remember?"

"Why do you think that? You're the most beautiful woman I know." Trent put his arms around her, and began to stroke her long auburn hair. She began to calm, and her breathing began to slow. He smiled as she wiped her nose on his shoulder. He held her until he could feel the tension drain from her frame. _I want you, Daria, but not like this. You have no idea how much I want you._

_What did she mean by that? If she thought she wasn't attractive, why would she have kept up that plain façade for so long? She was trying to keep stupid people away, according to Janey. Did she think he found something inside her that he thought unattractive? No way, Daria, no way…" _

After he was sure she had fallen asleep, he carried her up the stairs. The sleeping bag in Janey's room? No, that's gotta be uncomfortable. He paused at the door to his bedroom.

Don't even go there.

Penney's bed would be much more comfortable for her.

* * *

Sometime around 5 am, he woke up a little. He felt an arm reach over him, and a warm body snuggle up to him. It felt nice; he smiled as he drifted back to sleep.

"Shit."

Daria slowly and carefully disentangled herself from the embrace she woke to. Checking to see if she still had her panties on, she gingerly confirmed that Trent still had his boxers on as well. Now, where were her glasses? _Oh yeah. Not in this room._

She managed to find them where Trent was most likely to have put them, on Penney's nightstand. She could see the mussed covers, and a strand of her own hair on the pillow. She did remember correctly; Trent had put her to bed here. Therefore, she had climbed into Trent's bed on her own and spent the rest of the night with him.

She looked around, then realized the rest of her clothes weren't here. They were in her overnight bag, stuffed somewhere in Jane's room.

_I wonder how much of this he'll remember. But so what? The attraction was mutual. It just took some stress and alcohol for both of them to blurt it out to each other. And he had been enough of a gentleman to not indulge in wanton carnal knowledge last night, as long as her lucidity was questionable._

_Time for morning ablutions; my mouth feels like I've been licking a cat. At least my toothbrush is in the bathroom. Hell, maybe he won't remember. Do I want to remind him if he forgot?_

_ Wake up, dammit! I-_

"Morning, Daria," he said with a half-smile, wiping his mouth and dropping his toothbrush into a glass. He pulled the T-shirt that was draped over his shoulder and dropped it to waist level. She couldn't help but admire his wiry arms and slender but still muscular build, and the fact that he was standing there in just a pair of boxers, hiding a morning erection behind a t-shirt.

_It doesn't mean anything, Daria; it's a guy thing. Normal. Part of the male apparatus, kind of like a computer booting up._

"All yours," he said as he stepped to the door, turning away as he pulled his shirt on. She paused to enjoy the show. She watched his fingers gliding through his sleep-tossed black hair, catching herself as she bit her lower lip.

_The bathroom, dummy. He's talking about the fucking bathroom._

"You have pretty eyes with your glasses on too."

_Dammit. _

She stared into the mirror. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was a holy mess, her eyes were red, and what's up with her eyebrows? Why were they arched like that?

_And what's with the smile, Morgendorffer?_

* * *

Feeling almost human again, she stood in his doorway. "Talk?"

"We need to," he replied quietly. At least he was dressed.

Maybe she should have too. She was still in her long nightshirt. At least she had panties on, but not a bra. A while back, it wasn't such a big deal, but lately it was kind of hard to hide the fact that she had developed much more feminine contours. All of her stuff was in Jane's room. _Can't be waking her up now, right?_ _Yeah, right. Jane would be asleep till after lunch._

She looked at the clock. 9:00 am?

"Why are you up so early?"

He smiled at her, and patted the bed next to him. After a moment, she sat. He put his hand down next to hers. "I couldn't really sleep all that well, and I wanted to see you before- if - you decided to high-tail it out of the house."

"You remember, don't you?"

"And so do you. Am I right? Even after you finished off that beer?"

"I remember. Thank you for being such a gentleman about it."

He smiled thoughtfully. "That was hard."

She stifled an involuntary laugh. "I'll bet it was."

"It kind of still is."

She burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. _Stop it, he's being serious_. "Sorry, Trent, my mind is still in the gutter."

He blushed, and smiled. "You are gorgeous when you laugh, you know."

They sat together, smiling, for a long moment.

She flushed just a bit when he rested his hand on hers.

"I guess you read between the lines last night," he said quietly. "I really am screwed, aren't I? Even if you meant what you said afterwards, you're still off to Boston at the end of the summer."

"That doesn't mean you're stuck here." _Wait, how's he supposed to interpret that? _"Who's holding a gun to your head? Jane's going too, and really, that's the thing that kept you here."

He said nothing, but his shoulders seemed to drop slightly.

"Everything just fell into place around that happenstance. I think you fell into a pattern, trying to keep Jane whole. You spent your time hanging around the house so she wouldn't be by herself, didn't you?"

"She needed _somebody_ around. I couldn't imagine how sad it would be if she had to come home every day to an empty house. I guess it all became a routine, like you said."

"You knew that being alone would just underscore just how badly your parents treated her. You were building an emotional cocoon to protect her. You were the one that put your life on hold and took responsibility for her."

"She's my little sister. She needed to _know_ that somebody loved her."

"You know, you're the one in your family that's _always_ been there for her. You were the only family she had at her graduation."

"Janey's the world to me. She's the only family that I need."

"She knows that, and it was the one thing that kept her from applying to Boston Fine Arts College. She didn't want to leave you here by yourself. She's got talent, Trent, and she'd be wasting it here in this town. I believe in her, and I talked her into trying. I didn't mean to mess things up for you, but you know…"

She turned her hand over, and twined her fingers with his.

"What were your dreams before you had to be the responsible adult around here? Don't say the Spiral making it, because I think you know that's bull. Nobody, not even yourself, worked hard enough to make that happen."

"I realized that last night. I finally realized that I was just treading water until Janey could move on. You were right to push her to apply to BFAC. She's going to make it, thanks to you."

"And what about you, Trent? When are you going to live your life for _you?_ You're just as talented as Jane, in your own way. You just need to get off your lazy ass and get the hell out of this place. Let Summer and her kids move into this house. You've done your share. You've subbed for your parents, for God's sake. It's your turn too!"

She studied his face. Really looked at this guy that somehow always seemed to draw her back to him, unless she distracted herself by focusing on someone else, or by looking only on the negative, why she shouldn't find him so stupidly attractive.

_There was something there, something that I could sense from the moment I first met him. What am I doing? Trying to… reinvent him? Do a damn makeover? _

_ No, that's just wrong. I'm leading him down a path that I want him to take._

_ She looked down at their hands. She was struck by the contrast in skin texture, coloration, musculature. His were long, the tips roughened by years of playing; the nails a bit longer than hers. He wore clear, chipped nail polish, to toughen them; he used the backs of his nails as well as a pick when he played. This hand set the strings of his guitar vibrating, driving them, choosing which one sang out, when each fell silent. Her own nails were clipped and filed so as not to interfere with her typing. Her hands looked like a tiny version of his, but smooth, pale and soft. Under that skin, though, they were just as muscular as his, just to a different purpose._

_Her gaze shifted to his other hand, resting on his left thigh. Those nails were completely different, cut as short as possible, the tips of the fingers hard and callused, extending past the ends of the nails. A hand evolved to interface seamlessly with the neck, frets, and strings of a guitar. Different from the right hand, but complimentary, to different purpose, but the same goal. _

_Their hands. They were so different, and yet they could twine together, grasping each other, accommodating, adjusting, adapting. _

"Look, Trent, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to push you into changing. That's up to you to figure out. I'm just saying-" Just what was she saying? To him or to herself?

He sat there for a long time. He let go of her hand, and she was struck by how strange the sensation was. Cool air, free space, instead of the warm flesh of a moment ago. She immediately ached for that contact, startling herself.

In the next instant, everything changed. He reached up and touched her cheek, turning her face towards him. She jumped slightly at his touch, and then found herself slowly leaning into his fingertips. "You're saying I should go for what I really want, suck it up and get on with life."


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Gift **_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**For a Friend**_

"Sorry, Jane," giggled the winded brunette, cracking the door open. Her hair was a mess, and her glasses were crooked on her face. "We got distracted."

"You're supposed to be helping with his paper."

"I am. Well, sort of."

"Right." Jane gave her a mock scowl. "Don't forget, you agreed to model for me today. Looks like you're undressed for it."

"I guess I am. I think we're done in here anyway. Where are we setting up?"

"Trent, can we work in your room? Think you can stand not boinking your girlfriend for the afternoon? And put some clothes on."

"I guess," sighed Trent, as he picked his pants off the floor. "Gotta work on my paper anyway. Daria, did you remember to bring those references for me?"

"In my backpack, in Penney's room. No, wait, I laid them out on her desk. Look for a yellow folder. Open your email; I sent you some links to more information."

"Thanks, love."

Jane stepped aside as Trent hauled his notes and his laptop into the hall. "Sorry, bro. Got a deadline." Ah, young love… she turned and regarded the setting. As usual the bed was a mess, and various items of clothing were strewn about. Since the bed was against the wall, she could get a better perspective for a reclining nude. Perfect. She stepped back into the hall and dragged her easel into the room.

"Where do you want me?" Daria asked, dropping some tissues into a wastebasket. "I should brush my hair at least."

"Don't touch a thing," Jane said, fingertip to pursed lips. "The painting's subject is the post-coital afterglow. Think you can fake that?"

"You want me laying in bed after gorging myself on carnal delights?" Daria scowled at her. "You had better not be able to recognize me."

"I could paint you scrawny and make you a redhead."

"You are evil," Daria smirked. "Quinn and I are doing much better. You don't have to slander her in my stead, I'll take my lumps."

"It's meant to be beautiful, not erotic. That's what I'm aiming for. If it makes you feel any better, it won't be for sale. I know that would be too hard for you. It's for my portfolio; I'm really short of life drawing and painting since I could never afford a model, and the opportunities in this town are near zilch. Maybe you could give it to Trent for his birthday."

"He does not need additional stimulation, thank you very much," Daria smirked.

"Hey, I'm not the one keeping him away from his English paper."

"How about you paint fruit?"

"Like a nice bowl of lemons?"

* * *

"Damn, Daria, you make an excellent model." Jane smiled, stepping back from the canvas.

"You're just saying that because I'm free."

"I mean it. I started out with some dumb ideas but I've rethought my approach. The whole idea here is to show my range, what I'm capable of. Looking at you, though, got me thinking. You've got a certain quality that is hard to put a finger on. I mean, you have a very graceful body, your skin is actually luminous, and you have a beautiful face. But it's more than that. It's kind of a- I don't mean to be so effusive; it's just that- I don't know how to put it. There's something else, and it's kind of magical."

"You've spent most of your time sketching, and not so much painting."

"Look, I've got enough to get started; the composition's working and I've got it pretty much roughed in. I can't expect you to lay around in the altogether while I work on this." Jane paused, took a breath and pressed on. "I don't want you to freak or anything, but I do need to take some photos to work from. And before you say anything, I will be very careful with them. I swear that I will delete the files as soon as the painting is done."

Daria gave her the _Look._ "You want to take photos. Of my naked ass."

"Your divine_,_ _nude _ass. And other parts too."

"Do you really need to?"

"Not if you're willing to stick this out until I'm done. But this will take awhile, since I intend to do this in the style of the Renaissance masters."

"Jane Lane, if these photos show up on the Internet, you are, and I mean it, _dead_. No, make that _Fucking Dead_. Make sure you mislabel and encrypt the files.

"I'll label them 'cute puppies.'

"Better than 'sweater puppies.'

"Hey, I like that. "

"Don't you dare. And do NOT let Trent see them. I don't want one showing up as a screensaver on his laptop."

"I won't. I'll print them up and _you_ can slip them into one of his packs of guitar strings." Jane pulled out her phone and started taking the reference images before Daria had a chance to change her mind. Damn, the light was changing.

God, she was beautiful. No wonder her brother was besotted.

"Stop giving me that look, Daria, I need the detail around your face and hair."

"What _look?"_

"The one that says 'hurry up or I'm gonna shove that phone up your ass'. Just close your eyes for a moment, just relax and think of doing that goof sitting in Penney's room. Okay, now open your eyes, but power down those lasers."

She kept shooting, until the light was no longer cooperating.

"Get dressed, nature girl. I gotta go and work on this in my room." She began gathering her supplies and hefted the easel. "Don't worry, I'm transferring only the images that I need to my computer and will delete them off my phone. You can come in and set up a secured folder on my desktop if you like."

Daria looked up as she pulled on her jeans. "You can do that. I trust you, Jane." She picked up her bra and put it on. "Please, just be careful with those photos."

Jane watched as the diminutive brunette finished up, running her fingers through her thick hair. Despite Daria's newly found openness around Trent, she was still a very private person. Modeling for this painting was hard for her, and she wouldn't have done it for anyone else.

"Thank you, Daria."

"You're welcome. And remember, do _not_ sell this painting. I can see us walking into a bar sometime in the future and then seeing it on the wall. You realize that I would be forced to break a bottle over your head."

"Well, it would be a very classy bar, you know. And I could probably still run faster than you."

* * *

She looked at the fresh produce in the cart_. Salad, veggies to sauté, fruit. Better get frozen orange juice too. Wouldn't want my boyfriend to get scurvy or something like that while I'm gone. And fresh meat for the stir-fry._

God, she had a domestic streak. Where did that come from? _I'm responsibly feeding other humans, voluntarily. Those two can be so focused; they probably don't even realize I'm gone._ Trent was making good progress on his paper when she cracked the door to let him know she was leaving. She left him working without disturbing him; she didn't bother to tell Jane. The house could catch fire and she wouldn't notice until she realized she couldn't see the painting because of smoke.

She pulled the two plastic bags from the blue Plymouth. That poor car was getting so unreliable. Maybe she should think about buying a used car for school, but that wouldn't be a priority until she moved out of the dorms after the first semester. The plan was for Jane and Trent to move up the month before her midyear start at Boston Fine Arts College. Hopefully, the Plymouth would survive long enough for that. Besides, Raft wouldn't issue parking decals to students living in the dorms.

Setting the bags on the counter, she began prepping the vegetables for the evening meal. She eyed the utensils and bowls arrayed in front of her. _We'll be setting up a household. I guess we could get a lot of stuff cheap from thrift shops, and I'll already have a microwave from my dorm room._

She smiled, something that came easier these days. Trent was committed. She hadn't said a word, and didn't hint at it, but he was taking this life adjustment seriously. He had left Mystik Spiral on good terms, even helping them find his replacement. The rock gear was no longer needed, and he had begun listing things on Ebay. He had accumulated a lot of crap over the years, and decided to limit himself to a couple of acoustic guitars. One was his old Alvarez, and he had traded one of his electrics for a nice old Martin OOO-18, a smaller instrument. He also kept a couple of decent microphones, and an audio interface so that he could record on his laptop.

He had surprised the girls when he showed them his bank statement. He had bought old used gear when he had started with the band a long time ago, and most of it had actually gone way up in value, especially his main electric guitar. Hell, his modest collection of garage-sale stompboxes had gone for over six hundred bucks to a collector in Hong Kong. He had almost emptied the basement and his closet of band gear, and now had a sizeable sum in savings. Given the cost of living in Boston, it wasn't a fortune, but at least Daria didn't have to worry about them starving to death. Most of that money was going to help Jane; even with the foundation grants, BFAC was an expensive school.

Trent was going to get a job to cover his and Jane's share of the rent, and as much of her school expenses as he could.

Jane would study, and would be working as a print lab assistant for a partial tuition waiver. If the money ran out, she would get a job and keep going with her art on her own until she and Trent could save enough for her to go back to school.

The thinly sliced meat sizzled as it hit the hot oil and garlic in the pan. She added some white pepper, and then kept it moving until adding the veggies she had cooked earlier. She shut off the gas and pulled a serving platter over.

_Come hell or high water, they were all going to Boston. _


	3. Chapter 3

**_Changes_**

Quinn Morgendorffer was in a very strange mood.

She should have been elated after spending the afternoon shopping with her older sister. After all, she had finally managed to get her into some decent looking clothes, something she badly needed for college. Quinn wanted to be sure she had some quality pieces, since she had a sneaking suspicion that Daria would be shopping at thrift stores for some of her clothing so she could divert a little of her modest living stipend to books and pizza. Quinn had been surprised and felt more than a little guilty when she discovered that most of the books and CDs Daria owned had been bought used.

They had wound up spending quite a bit of money- several pairs of jeans, a half dozen nice tops, more black t-shirts, even another pair of shoes. But a dress? No way. Okay, two nice sweaters…a few scarves, Boston would be cold in the winter.

Of course, her fashion-phobic sister refused to spend money on a nice long coat. She insisted that she would get one at an Army-Navy store. _Yechh._

On a hunch, she had steered Daria into the lingerie department. _She needs an underwire? Huh, I guess she does! And what's with all the sexy stuff? My sister, actually caring about what her ass looks like to a guy? About time. It must be Jane's brother, Trent. She's always had a thing for him._

Daria had agreed that her old high school outfit had served its nefarious purpose and had decided to only keep one set, for historical purposes. The clothes no longer fit well anyway; Quinn had volunteered to take care of it.

"Give it here, sis, I've got it covered," Quinn said quietly. She picked out a good wooden hanger, carefully arranged the clothes on it, and covered everything with a plastic dry cleaning bag. She studied it for a moment, and then placed it carefully in her closet with the rest of her own clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Opening Doors**_

"Oh, my God." Jane hung up the phone in shock. She settled into a kitchen chair as Trent entered, a look of alarm growing on his face.

"Janey, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Daria…"

"What-" Trent went white as a ghost. "Janey, did something happen to her?"

"Daria's would want to kill me, Trent!" She looked at him, eyes wide. "Oh, my God!"

"What the hell happened, Janey?" He was getting confused, and more than a little impatient.

"I just got off the phone with the Director of the BFAC galleries. They start the year off with an exhibition of thirty works by incoming students in September. The selection's based on portfolio and file reviews, and it's considered a top honor at the school. One of my pieces was chosen unanimously by the instructors and department heads. They want it, even though I don't start until after the first term!"

"Holy Crap, Janey, that's fantastic!" Trent was beaming. "I'm so proud of you!" He pulled her up off the chair and gave her a hug. She returned the hug, but without enthusiasm. Trent froze, as realization hit him.

"Oh no."

"Ooooh yeah," Jane smiled weakly. "I uploaded a digital image to BFAC in order to update my portfolio on file, even though I was already accepted for admission. And I couldn't bring myself to alter her face or her hair color, because I love her so much. I never thought this painting would leave my possession, so it didn't matter." She sat back down and laid her head down on the table. "Dammit!"

Trent settled in next to her. "Damn, Janey, you sure know how to make an entrance."

"Yeah, I guess I do, don't I?" She began chuckling. "At least the administration and some of the painting instructors will be paying attention when I show up."

"So you're not going to ask her for permission to show it?"

"I'm not going to embarrass her like that. Her modeling was her gift to me, and I'm going to respect her sensibilities. I know she would let me, because she would put my interests ahead of her discomfort, but I won't ask her."

* * *

Her arms full of groceries, Daria managed to make it all the way into the kitchen without spilling the bag that had the apples in it. As she struggled to maintain control of the fruit trying to roll off the counter, she heard the answering machine pick up an incoming call.

"Ms. Lane, this is Doctor Louise Rocklin, the Pictorial Arts Department head at BFAC. I wanted to speak to you about reconsidering your decision to not allow the exhibition of your work _Fallen Angel_ at the NextWave Incoming Student show at our main gallery in September. I realize that it may sound like just a student show, but I wanted to emphasize that visibility at this event is a rare privilege and is closely followed by the fine arts community of Boston and beyond. Normally I would simply accept a response such as yours and move on to another student, but I have to say that many of us here find _Fallen Angel_ to be a work of extraordinary quality, something rarely seen at this stage in an artist's career. Please reconsider this opportunity. You can call me at area code 617 708-9400."

_Jane, what the hell? _

Daria quickly pulled out her cell and punched in the number, ignoring the stray apple that hit the floor and wobbled out into the hall.

"Hello, Doctor Rocklin? My name is Daria Morgendorffer, and I'm calling about Jane Lane's exhibition of _Fallen Angel_…well, not exactly, I'm the model…I just walked into the Lane kitchen and heard the message as you were leaving it, and I… no, that's not the problem, it was painted after I had turned 18…could you tell me what reason she gave…that's it? Not available for public viewing? No. No, I believe she felt that I would have a problem with it being seen…No, I'll have her call you back when she returns from her run…sure, you're welcome…bye."

She turned around to see Trent rinsing a bruised apple under the kitchen tap and taking a big bite out of it. "Okay, Lane, you must have known about this. Why didn't you tell me?"

_Whoa, was Daria pissed at him?_

He swallowed and thought about how to handle this. _Well, truth always works. _ "Janey wasn't going to mention it because she figured you'd tell her it was okay, even though it would embarrass you a lot and really not be okay with you. She didn't want to do that to you, and I just followed her lead." He took another bite of apple.

"You Lanes are all crazy," snapped Daria. "Thirty people out of over two hundred fifty get featured, so it puts the eye of the art community squarely on you as a new artist. Your progress is followed with interest. You don't have to fight so much for visibility. A little embarrassment on my part is _nothing_ compared to the good it does Jane! How often does someone get a chance to do something that cool for a friend?"

"She was protecting you. That's really cool too." Trent gave her a half-smile, and there was a sparkle in his eyes as the front door opened. "Hey, Janey."

"Hey Daria, Trent…" Jane stepped over to the sink and filled a glass with water, pausing to gulp it down. "Did I miss something?"

"Jane, you can be such a freaking martyr. Call this woman back and tell her you'll show it." She pushed the play button and walked out of the kitchen. Climbing the stairs, she walked into Jane's room.

"Dammit!" Trent had stolen it again. She walked down the hall and looked in, seeing the painting hanging on _his_ wall. She settled herself down on his bed and studied the composition. _Really, it's not that embarrassing… a reclining nude, head resting on an outstretched arm, hair and the opposite forearm and hand obscuring much of the lower portion of the face. As a painting, it was tastefully done; luminous, beautiful. An eloquent demonstration of Jane's talent._

_But that was her, Daria Lynne Morgendorffer, buck-naked and looking kind of… hot. Her dad would have a coronary. Quinn might get jealous, and God only knows what mom would say…if they ever saw it. Which they won't. Ever. No way. It'll be seen in Boston, at Boston Fine Arts College, and that'll be it. Right?_

Jane entered and sat next to her.

"Do it, Jane. If it becomes a problem I'll cut my hair short and spiky, and dye it purple or something."

"You are an amazing friend, you know that?"

"So are you, Jane. Do not hug, you're sweaty, need a shower and you stink. Literally, not figuratively."

Turning back to the painting, she explored just _how_ Jane had captured her identity. Looking at it closely was oddly disorienting; it wasn't her familiar mirrored reflection, but the way she looked to others. It was the same disconnect that made looking at photographs of herself unpleasant. She hated being photographed, and if aware of a camera she somehow managed to hide in plain sight.

Was this how Jane really saw her? She knew the physicality of the model was accurate; when Jane chose to work representationally, she took that aspect as part of the challenge. And part of her strategy was usually working below the surface, in ways that were subtle and subversive.

It wasn't about her body, really; that element was something almost meaningless to her. To anyone other than those that she was close to, that part of her may as well be anonymous, triggering as it would preconceptions and prejudices that were irrelevant to her. Well, perhaps she was wrong, but that aspect of this image was incidental. It was part of the composition. The lines and volumes of the figure communicated the ease and comfort between the artist and subject. On that level, there was no awkwardness, no tension.

The mouth? Only a portion was visible, small, with full lips that curved ever so slightly up at the corner. But that wasn't the nexus.

It was the way Jane had rendered her eyes.

Open, slightly lidded; looking at and through the viewer at the same time. Thoughtful, as though seeing past, present and future, the possibilities spooling; joy and sadness in equal measure. Contradiction; confidence balanced with insecurities, purpose hobbled by fear. A hopeful woman beginning to sketch out her map to happiness.

Somehow, Jane had put on canvas a statement of deep love for her friend, and in the process managed to capture something of her that seemed far more revealing than mere nudity.

She stepped close to the canvas. She hadn't noticed it before, but silhouetted in the tiny curved rectangle of light reflected in her eyes was a tall, skinny figure with messy hair standing in the source of light that illuminated everything.

* * *

_Good for you, Jane. _

To have been accepted to Boston Fine Arts College already meant that you had to be talented. That was a given. The quality of the assembled work was incredible, and yet even here Jane's work stood out_. _Daria stayed away from the standing wall that _Fallen Angel_ hung on, the only work to have an exclusive surface for display. Just the one canvas and artist's statement. Daria wanted to read the statement, something that Jane had insisted on writing without Daria's help.

Maybe later, she promised herself. Right now, there were too many people there that might make the connection between the painting and a young woman in an itchy oversize black sweater and jeans. There were a lot of older people talking to Jane, probably instructors and patrons of the arts.

She felt a touch on her shoulder, and turned to Trent offering what looked like a plastic tumbler of juice to her. She took it gratefully, and as she brought it to her lips she could smell the cabernet. He smiled as he took a sip from his almost empty glass of wine. "Thought you could use that."

"Thank you… you have no idea," she said, plucking a square of cheese and a couple of crackers from the plate he had managed to carry. Finishing, she put her arm around him and gave him a discrete hug. "Looks like Jane's made an impression, and that's what matters."

"Excuse me, Ms. Morgendorffer, but you've made an impression here as well."

Turning to the familiar voice, Daria saw a rather distinguished woman that had been talking at length to Jane earlier in the evening.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," said the woman, offering her hand. "I'm Louise Rocklin, head of Pictorial Arts here at BFAC. Jane tells me that you've been her principal supporter and the reason she's here in the first place."

"She's here because of her talent," Daria stated simply. "I was just irritating enough to get her off her tail and apply."

"And for that, I thank you. I understand you're a writer currently enrolled at Raft."

"An aspiring writer, yes. Jane's being generous."

"Well, based on what I can see of her sensibilities, her assessment carries a good deal of credibility with me. Please, I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine." Turning, she headed back to the crowd near _Fallen Angel_.

"Come on, Trent, I need backup!" Daria said nervously, taking his hand and pulling him along.

"It'll be fine, Daria, this isn't a bunch of high school kids," he whispered calmly. "These are or will soon be your peers."

"Daria Morgendorffer, Trent Lane; this is Doctor Nathan Samuels, the Head of Creative Writing at Raft University; Doctor Maureen Winters, editor of the _New England Literary Journal_, and your Creative Writing instructor, who of course you've already met, Professor Carolyn Jameson. Oh, and the rest of these scruffy folk are instructors at BFAC. I'll let them introduce themselves. All, this is the young woman that Ms. Lane thinks so highly of, and of course her consort, musician and Jane's brother Mr. Lane."

"A pleasure, Ms. Morgendorffer," smiled Dr. Samuels, taking her hand. "Carolyn here says you show great talent yourself."

"Indeed," smiled Professor Jameson. "Your first assignments were quite refreshing. I'm looking forward to this term."

"I expect to be hearing from you," said Dr. Winters. "Expect honest criticism. You are, of course, in capable hands at Raft."

"Hey," piped up a bearded, somewhat underdressed man. "Jeff Heider, electronic media at BFAC. Jane tells me that both of you are songwriters too."

"Daria's the lyricist, I do the music," Trent chuckled. "I commit lyrics, as in misdemeanors if not felonies. And Daria's actually a great singer, but I can't get her on stage."

"In time, dude. Wanna meet some of the Boston music crowd?"

"It's okay, Trent, just don't leave without me. We'll come and find you." Daria shooed him away.

_This isn't so bad…Trent was right. I don't feel like a freak here._

Sipping her drink, she found herself enjoying the conversations. Eventually, things began to settle down, and Daria glanced at the painting and the artist's statement next to it. Jane was off looking at a series of etchings a few yards away.

Stepping closer, she began reading the small placard.

_**Fallen Angel**_

_**Oil on panel mounted canvas**_

_**This work was undertaken at first as a technical exercise that soon found another purpose. The model is a woman who is in fact a very private and shy individual. She agreed to this only because she believes in me and has never failed to support me in any of my creative endeavors, no matter how stupid they may have been at times. To her and my brother I owe my sanity. Without them, and without her friendship, I would have been lost.**_

_**Since I have known Daria, she has been my guardian angel in her own iconoclastic (I learned that word from her) way. She possesses a sharp, fierce and sometimes savage intellect; she is uncompromising in her standards and above all is a creative force to be reckoned with; the word and pen are her weapons of choice. Her honesty is steel, tempered by morality.**_

_**This painting is my homage to her coming into her own. This is my friend, my protector, the kicker of my lazy ass. She believes in me. To disappoint her would be a terrible thing indeed. **_

_**Thank you, my Best Friend.**_

* * *

"_It's going to be WHERE?" _

"On the cover of ArtNews. They're doing a story on art education in the US.

They called to schedule a photo shoot of the painting and the artist. They also wanted to have you in the shot, if you would be willing.

_"Well, I knew that this sort of thing might happen when I gave you the go ahead to show it publicly. It would be pointless now to be upset about it." _

"I feel badly that it's gotten so much unwelcome exposure for you. Wait, that didn't come out right."

_"At least those kinds of magazines don't do centerfolds."_

"Umm…they do want to reproduce the entire painting on the inside of the issue, as well as details of your face. The cover shot will be cropped and somewhat out of focus, with the emphasis on me. The shot will be annotated simply _Jane Lane, incoming freshman, Boston Fine Arts College."_

"_Jane, that's excellent. I don't see the need to involve myself; it's your moment and you should be proud of it. Honestly, I don't mind. I've learned to deal with the minor notoriety, and it's actually made it easier to be taken seriously. The contacts I made at the show opening have actually followed through, and one of my short stories will be published in the New England Literary Journal. I've been assured by Dr. Winters that publication was based strictly on its own merit."_

"Daria! Congratulations! That is great news- you _are_ coming back to Lawndale for the Thanksgiving break, right? Can we celebrate then?"

"_Yeah, I'm kinda climbing the walls. Trent better be there."_

"He's waiting his turn for the phone."

"_Depending on how my family takes the news of the painting and its publication, I may be spending Thanksgiving with you guys."_

"BFAC is returning the painting this week. Do you want me to show it to your family? It may be easier for me to convince them that it's a work of art. I can prepare a presentation with an album of accolades, all on institutional letterheads."

"_Perhaps that's the best approach. My dad is less likely to go off on you; my mom is more rational. Let me call them first and get them used to the idea before you show them the painting._

* * *

_ Thank God dad took it well. When Daria called with the news of that painting, I could see him start to get upset. Good thing she was able to distract him with the news of her story getting published._

_ Mom was a little pissed, but calmed down after a short while. I could tell that she was conflicted about the whole thing; she's always felt that it was unfortunate that Daria never acknowledged the fact that she was an attractive girl, and really, Daria's attitude about the nudity being not that important kind of confused mom- and me. How could that not be a big deal to my sister? She's always been so reluctant to show off- not even a little! _

_ Then Jane and Trent brought the painting over. Jane started with that album of reviews and commendations, and that really helped to calm mom and dad down. I kind of held my breath when Jane lifted the cloth from the painting, but my God, it was so beautiful that it gave me goose bumps. It wasn't dirty or anything like that, Daria looked amazing. I mean, she may not be a conventional beauty like in magazines and stuff, but she is beautiful in her own way. We all just stared at it for a long, long time, and then mom got up and walked over to Jane and gave her a hug. Dad just walked up to the painting, looking really close at Daria's face, and then he just kind of smiled. _

_ Then Jane told us about the fancy art magazine that was going to publish it on the cover, and she was really careful to show how it was going to be cropped and stuff. By that time, though, I could tell that mom and dad were okay with it._

_ I asked Jane if she could leave the painting for a couple of days, and I had to admit to everybody that I missed Daria. Jane was really nice about it, and agreed. _

_ Mom actually brought some people home from her office to show it off. I did the same thing, brought some friends home from school to show them the painting._

_Jane even let me put up that little card with her artist's comment about it. When you read it, it gives the painting even more impact. Daria modeled for it, even though she was uncomfortable with it, to help her friend. You start to understand just how important those two are to each other, and just how amazing my sister is. I am so proud of her._

_When Jane came by to pick it up, she brought us another painting. It was a detailed study of Daria's face, her head resting on her outstretched arm. She had painted it to get Daria's eyes just right. Jane had framed it and gave it to us. I wanted to hang it in my room, but I guess it was a gift to the family, so it was put it up in the living room. I made a copy of her artist's statement and put it on the wall next to the painting._

_I emailed Daria and sent a photo of the painting in the living room. She replied that I should snag it if it winds up in a yard sale, because when Jane gets famous it'll be worth a lot of money! Smartass. Although, I know she wasn't kidding about Jane being successful._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanksgiving**_

I emailed Jeff Heider at BFAC and let him know that I would be driving to pick up Daria for the Thanksgiving break. He came through for me- he managed to set up a meeting with a friend of his that has a music store near Raft.

"This guy's name, I kid you not, is Ziggy. He's pretty cool, but he's a little excitable, kind of like a mental Chihuahua or something. He's really a good guy underneath it all, but he probably rubs some people the wrong way."

Jeff sat in the meeting, and afterwards I ran him back to BFAC. Ziggy and I got along okay; heck, if I can deal with Daria's crazy parents, this guy is not going to be a problem. I gave him Jake and Helen as references- it looks good to get the nod from a business consultant and a lawyer.

We loaded Daria's stuff in the late model Toyota hatchback- it felt good to pick her up in a car that wasn't a dangerous piece of crap. She didn't make a big deal about it, but I could tell that she was pleased. I traded the last of my stash of music gear- my Gibson electric and my Fender Bandmaster amp- straight across for the car. The best part was that it was green- Daria's favorite color.

We got on the interstate and headed for Maryland. After an hour we stopped for lunch, and we settled into a booth and ordered. The phone in my back pocket rang as Daria went off in search of a restroom. The conversation couldn't have gone better, and she returned to find me in a very good mood.

"Hey, Love, I found a job near Raft."

Daria stopped short of attacking her burger, mouth open. "What did you say?" She looked surprised.

"I got a job at Ziggy's, a big music store about three blocks from your dorm at Raft. Just a floor sales job to start, and teaching guitar if I want to. Remember Jeff Heider? He's the electronic media instructor at BFAC that we met at Janey's show. He set up the meeting with Ziggy himself, and I just got the word now. Ziggy's a little high strung and kinda scares the younger staff, so he figures I'd make a good buffer for him."

"Trent, that's great!" She reached over and took my hand.

"I'm figuring that I need to push a little hard right now, so I can cover Janey's housing cost. Hopefully things will get better when we settle in. I'm going to try to carry as much of the household overhead as I can so you guys can concentrate on school as much as possible."

She studied the burger after setting it back on its plate.

"Trent, that's not really fair to you."

"Doesn't matter. It's just what it has to be for now. Look, community college tuition is going to be pretty expensive until I can establish residency in Massachusetts. Both of you are attending prestigious schools and you should focus on what's important. I can continue with some online classes; I'll sign up for night classes at a community college when I can afford it."

"What about your music? Are you going to put that on hold too?"

"No. That's why this job is good for now; it'll get me plugged in to the music scene. It's a start, that's all it is. When I get enough good material together, I'll find a solo gig and ease in. We're almost there; your lyrics really make the songs."

"Don't give anything up, Trent. You're a great musician. You've sacrificed for so long, and I'm not going to let myself be another responsibility for you to take on. I'm going to take care of myself; I mean that. I'll get a part time job; that's what I planned on; that's all part of finally growing up, getting out on my own and becoming an adult. And I know Jane is also intent on doing the same thing. We're all going to work hard for the next few years. I just appreciate that you're going to be there, but I also need to know that you're doing this for yourself."

"It's what I want to do, Daria. I can't help but to want to fight for you, as much as to shield you as to earn the right to be with you. I understand what you want, and I hadn't thought of it quite that way. So, okay. I guess we're doing that growing up thing together. Better late than never for me."

"You know it kind of kills me to know that you gave up your guitar and amp to get that car. That stuff was your pride and joy."

"When Mystik Spiral was how I defined myself. That's the past and it's fun to think about, but it's not important anymore. It's just wood, metal and wire. I can get another electric guitar if I ever get back into that sort of thing. I know I just agreed to let you take care of yourself, but I was starting to worry about the safety aspect of the blue bomb in a busy city like Boston. That thing doesn't have airbags, and the brakes are kind of crappy. Driving that car between Lawndale and Boston was like shooting craps. I wanted you and Janey to have a safer car to drive."

She gave me one of those smiles as she picked up her burger. Just that made it worth it.

"Guess I kinda liked drooling over that bad boy rocker with the grunge band behind him," she smirked. "You're right about the Plymouth being unsafe. I liked it because you didn't define yourself with what kind of car you drove, like so many people. I loved that you didn't care that your car was a piece of shit. Let's compromise; I'll admit that I like driving a safer car, but I won't wash it. Can I put snarky stickers on it?"

"Whatever you want. Just don't pile a bunch of stuffed animals in the back window."

* * *

_Not the man I would have chosen for her, but she knows what she's doing._

Helen Morgendorffer regarded her eldest daughter with a quiet smile. It had been only a few months since she had left Lawndale and moved into a dorm at Raft. Secretly she had hoped that she would have noticed some of the other men out there that would be good for her, but if anything she seemed to have gotten even closer to the enigmatic Trent Lane. Jane sat next to her, and Trent had graciously taken the seat next to Helen so that Quinn could sit next to Daria.

Helen knew that the two sisters had been in much closer contact than before, and for her that was a big thing to be thankful for. She had been so afraid that the two would follow in her own footsteps, never being able to stop the sibling wars. Both of her daughters had been able to slay that Barksdale demon.

And Trent. Perhaps he had also chosen his seat out of consideration for Jake's emotional sake. Daria had told her about his hidden awareness of things unspoken, and Helen was beginning to understand just what she meant. At first he had seemed so different from Daria, but the dynamic between the two of them was clear. They complimented each other, each bringing out new things in the other, growing together. He matched her raw intellectual power with emotional intelligence. They meshed in ways far more important than most couples did.

In a way, not unlike her own choice of Jake. That had driven her mother crazy. Helen had to smile at that; even today Jake was only tolerated and granted the meanest of civility.

Trent was good for her daughter. He didn't fawn over her; he let her be her own fiercely independent self. He simply watched as Daria loaded her plate with too much cranberry relish, and kept his comments to himself. Steaming platters and bowls were passed, and food shared and accepted gratefully.

It was easy at first to write him off as a nobody, as a slacker. If you pulled all the elements of his story together, though, you would soon be lost if that was your point of origin. The fact that he was Jane's brother should have been a good reason to look closer; Jane, despite the fact that she was wired completely differently from Daria from an intellectual perspective, was every bit as talented as her friend.

The ability to read people, the thing that made Helen so effective as a trial lawyer, had made it clear to her that the young man was, in his own peculiar way, every bit as formidable behind that deceptively cool, calm exterior. And he was the one that Daria had chosen.

_Damn it all, he makes her happy. What else really matters? My eldest can take care of herself. She will achieve great things. And so will he, it seems._

_ Just don't you two make me a grandmother anytime soon._

She reached over and refilled Trent's wine glass. She didn't offer any to the girls, but if they reached for it, she wouldn't say no. Well, both Daria and Jane were mature. Quinn? Getting there, thankfully, but no wine for her. Daria got up and returned with a bottle of sparkling apple juice, pouring for the underage contingent. Helen saw the tiniest of smiles as she caught her eye.

Helen glanced again at Trent. He was neatly dressed, something that she was having a bit of trouble processing. There were no holes in his- slacks? The long sleeved shirt discretely covered his tattoos, and he had removed much of his jewelry. It was amusing to realize that he probably owned more jewelry than Daria did. If her daughter had any piercings that she didn't know about, she preferred it stay that way.

With everyone's glass full, Jake raised his for a toast.

"Each of us has much to be thankful for, and for me I am blessed by family, in the truest sense of the word. All here are my family, and for you all I am grateful."

_Jake, you can still surprise me. And you're right._


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

_**That Growing Up Thing**_

Things were beginning to come together.

Trent had agreed to start at Ziggy's early in December in order to provide support for the Christmas crush. Extra help would be needed to accommodate the seasonal shopping crowd; most of these folks didn't know much about a musician's needs or wants themselves, they were buying gifts for their relations or friends.

As a result, Trent noticed that the sales staff had to spend a lot of time trying to figure out just what kind of a musician was being shopped _for_. What was their age? What instrument did they play or were interested it? Skill level? Musical style? Budget?

Once you knew that it didn't take long to figure out what would be appropriate. In fact, if the salesman happened to know that they were shopping for a musician who was a regular customer, they could search their purchase history and easily suggest the perfect thing.

This store was in a prime location, and there was a lot of traffic on the floor. No wonder Ziggy got wound up; it would probably be really bad around Christmas. It would be better if he were occupied instead of in everybody's face.

Finishing up his shift, he pulled on his heavy coat and stepped into the crappy Boston winter. A few yards in front of him he saw a woman trying to wrestle a bulky bass guitar case into a comfortable carrying position.

He unbuttoned his coat a little and made sure his store badge was visible, and asked if she could use a little help. It was no big deal for him to carry the heavy instrument to her car, and he waited until she had managed to fish out her keys, not that easy with gloves on. The parking lot was getting dark, and since it was after the usual office work hours, it was pretty full. It was a good thing it wasn't raining or snowing. "Didn't anyone offer to help you with this?"

"Well, actually, everyone looked pretty busy and I didn't realize it would be so hard to carry, so I didn't ask," she explained.

"You shouldn't have had to ask," Trent said thoughtfully. "That was pretty inconsiderate of us. Sorry."

He put the bass in the trunk and closed it; she offered him a tip, but he turned it down. "Naw, ma'am, thanks for shopping at Ziggy's. Merry Christmas. Is this for your son?"

"Yes, he's been wanting a bass for awhile. Not sure how I'm going to surprise him with it. I guess I have to find a hiding place for it."

"Well, if you do that, make sure that it's somewhere you wouldn't be uncomfortable yourself. Musical instruments shouldn't be kept in places that are too hot or cold, or where there's moisture. It can mess up things if you let it sit in a cold garage and then all of a sudden bring it in the house. A good place to hide it might be in the back of a hall closet with coats in front of it."

"Thank you for that, I_ was_ thinking of the garage." She gave him a smile, and shook his hand. "Merry Christmas, young man."

He turned and made his way to the Raft dorms, buttoning his coat as he went and thinking about his first few days at Ziggy's.

* * *

"Hey, Carla," Trent smiled as Daria's roommate let him in. "Leaving already?"

The tall blonde pulled a knit cap over her hair before grabbing her backpack. "Library. Cramming with my study group for a few hours." She gave him a little wink. "Behave, you two."

"Thank you," Daria called out as the door closed.

Two hours later, they settled into a small booth at Daria's favorite Italian place. "The usual, _Figga Mia_? Lina smiled, appearing at her side. "_Grande_, or is your Trent having something else?"

"How can I not have your pizza? Daria's right; it's the best!""

"Smart man," Lina laughed, and tilted her head in Daria's direction. "Listen to her. You're lucky, you know, your lady is a true beauty, inside and out."

"_Grazie, Mama,"_ Daria blushed.

"She likes you," Trent observed. "Is this her place?"

"Lina and her husband Santo are the owners. I wandered in here one night, homesick for good pizza. The place was full of couples, and I guess I looked a little pathetic. She took the time to try to cheer me up, and I guess I kind of got adopted by them. They know all about you, by the way."

"You, Mister Trent," came a gruff voice. Trent turned to see a short, stocky man in an apron; thickly muscled arms crossed.

"You treat our Daria right, got it?" He growled. She says the word, I bust your ass."

"Santo!" Laughed Lina, hitting him with a dishtowel.

Santo broke into a hearty laugh, slapping Trent on the back. "Just kidding. Welcome! I can see our Daria is much happier now."

"I'm glad to see she's got good people watching out for her," smiled Trent.

"See? A smart man," Lina laughed again.

* * *

"Well, I better let you get back to your books."

"Thank you. It was a very nice break," Daria murmured, as he gave her a long hug. "Only a few more weeks before the Christmas holiday, and then Jane's coming up, right?"

"Yeah, and I've got to find some places for you guys to look at. Ziggy said something about a friend with a place."

"You should talk to him about your ideas," Daria reminded. "I think they would really make things work a lot better at the store."

"I will. And thanks for the plan to keep Ziggy occupied," Trent chuckled. "I'll see you day after tomorrow."

"Thank you for giving me the time to myself for school. It's hard to not be distracted when you're in the same town."

"Jeez, you guys," Carla said, poking her head into the hallway. "You don't have to hang out here. It's not like I haven't seen this before."

"Goodnight, love," murmured Trent, putting his fingertips to her cheek.

* * *

_Man, Trent was right. This place is a zoo._

"Hi, welcome to Ziggy's!" greeted a Goth elf-girl. "Are you shopping for a gift?"

"Um, sure, I guess so," Daria mumbled, unable to process the peculiar twist on Christmas cheer. She took a slip of paper and a pencil offered by long fingers with glossy black nails.

"This might help, if you're not sure what you're looking for. Just check the boxes on this sheet and hand it to an associate. It'll help them to make better gift suggestions for you. We'll even load it into your car, if you like, just look for the helpers with the green hats. Have fun, and Merry Christmas!"

Off to the corner, Daria spotted a corral made of speaker cabinets with a cluster of kids inside following a skinny Santa with a ukulele. Armed with kazoos, tambourines and giggles, they were filling the store with some enthusiastic and original holiday music.

_That must be Ziggy. At least he's having fun and leaving the employees alone._

Spotting Trent, she crossed the sales floor and waited as he helped an older woman.

"If your grandson's an intermediate player, you're right to upgrade the instrument he started with. Since he likes the sound of Angus Young, you should look at Gibson SG style instruments, rather than the beginner Fender style he has. It makes a difference, since they have different tonal characteristics. And you might move your budget towards a better instrument, instead of including a new small amplifier. He'll really notice the difference in sound if he plays through the amp he's always used. Another practice amp won't do him any good right now.

"He'd be able to trade in his older instrument and amp later, or sell it online and pick up a bigger amp for when he gets a band together. We have a selection of used amps that have been checked out and come with a warranty. Give him my card and I'll make sure he gets a good deal, since you're buying him a guitar. Have him bring the instrument in and I'll set it up it for his playing style, no charge."

Daria watched from a discreet distance as Trent explained the choices. _He's pretty straight, doesn't sound like he's doing a hard sell. I'd trust this guy._

"These Epiphones are a pretty good value, and he'll notice a big improvement in tone and playability. He's into rock, not blues, so I'd suggest one with this type of pickup. Of course, you can look at the top line Gibsons, but they're a lot more money. I'd wait until you're pretty sure he's going to stick with it. Since he's an AC/DC fan, I guess I should tell you that there _is _an Angus Young model SG; it's pretty expensive, though. Maybe when he graduates from college."

Five minutes later, Trent wrote up a sales ticket for $1400. "Thank you, Ms. Williamson, your grandson is a lucky, lucky guy." Waving a greencap over, he slipped the case into a plastic bag. "This gentleman will load this into your car. Here's my card- if there's any problem at all, or if you just have questions, don't hesitate to call me."

Seeing her chance, she stepped forward. "Hey, Trent."

"Daria!" Looking around, he spotted another sales associate. "Will, I'm taking my lunch break."

"You're a pretty impressive sales guy."

"That last sale was pretty cool. The family got together and pooled their cash to buy a kid a better guitar. I hope I didn't push too hard, but it sounded like the kid was pretty serious and managed to make progress playing a really crappy instrument. He's gonna be in heaven when he unwraps that SG – not only a real Gibson, but with the lightning bolt inlays and hot pickups, too. Grandma decided to spend the extra money."

"Looks like Ziggy took your suggestions."

"He's just stoked. We're doing great, and people are getting in and out quickly with what they need. By the way, the other employees thank you for getting Ziggy out of their faces."

"He's having a good time."

"And it keeps the little kids from climbing over the drum kits and otherwise grabbing at things. It's hard to keep from getting excited when you see all this cool stuff...and the parents can relax a little and shop in peace."

"Hey, Lane!" Daria turned to spot the scruffy Santa waving Trent over. Curious, she followed along. "Hey, this your lady? Lucky bastard. This was your idea, right? Keep me outta trouble? I like you. Smart girl. Hey Trent, you're the new shift manager. Gonna take some time off and visit family. You I trust. Jeff was right. Hey, talk to Otto about your new pay package. And I found a place for the three of you. Take this card, this guy owes me. Already talked to him. Kinda weird place but you guys are weird, so you might like it. Cheap. Cool place. Go eat, nice meeting ya, Daria, right? Bye!"

"What the hell just happened?" Daria stared after Ziggy.

"Good stuff, Daria."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Home Sweet Home**_

"So what was this place, anyway?" Jane looked around, eyes wide.

"A late nineteenth century mannequin factory, and I'm not kidding," Daria half-smiled. "What do you think?"

"This place is so damn _cool!"_

"It's kind of a weird gig," Trent explained. "Friend of Ziggy named Seymour Katz owns the building, mostly all rented out. His father bought the building some time in the 1930's. He's going on a trek through South Asia, buying a boat in Taiwan and then sailing around the world. Seymour wanted somebody to look after the place. This used to be the flat of the guy who started the factory back in the late 1800s. Katz was going to move into this space, but then he changed his mind. Something about the place being too odd even for him."

"We look after the place, collect the rent, pay repair bills from a maintenance account, things like that. He has a finance manager, Bernie, taking care of the taxes, insurance and all that, but he wants boots on the ground, so to speak."

They walked the space. "The flat has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, common room with kitchen, central lightshaft with glassed skylights," noted Daria. "About 1000 square feet. There's electricity, gas appliances, washer, dryer and a refrigerator. We can decorate using any of the old mannequin parts and molds lying around, and he's okay with our throwing them out. We just can't tear out walls or otherwise make structural changes without his ok, and no raising livestock indoors or fires not in a fireplace."

"When we came up the stairs, there was a double door to the right," Daria continued. "That opens into a storage area; actually, it's the rest of the third floor, about six thousand square feet more. There's a bunch of stuff that belongs to Seymour. There's a freight elevator on the east side wall, which goes down to the loading dock. It's keyed so that we can only use it to get to this floor, and the company below us has a key that will stop it at the second floor."

"I don't have the keys for the double doors and the elevator yet," explained Trent. "We get them if we decide to take the place. We're to keep our hands off of Seymour's stuff; it's marked off with a yellow rope. We can take any of the old mannequin factory junk that's piled up along the south wall. We're allowed to use the empty space for storing our stuff, but nobody other than the three of us will be allowed to enter that area. The way the floor is divided up, we can use the freight elevator to move in, but we have to access the flat through the double doors near the stairs."

"Any emergencies or questions, we call Bernie, his finance manager, or Seymour's satellite phone," explained Daria.

"So who's renting the other spaces?" Jane leaned over the west side fire escape railing, looking down to the second and first floor.

"There's an Asian importer on the ground floor, mostly for the decorative

trade. Handicraft items such as pottery, ceramics and carved goods from Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam, and so on. No furniture, near as I can tell." Trent indicated the east side of the building. "They use the alley for loading and unloading, so it can get pretty noisy back there. The alley is gated and secure; it's got this big signboard over the entry, and an electric winch operates a steel gate. It goes straight up behind the sign and is run with a remote. They can use it for temporary tarped storage, and we're supposed to make sure that they don't start turning it into an open-air market or semi-permanent storage, since that would violate a number of city ordinances.

"We get to use that dumpster for our household trash, as long as we don't get carried away. There's a trash chute from our floor and the second floor that drops into it. Since they generate the largest volume of trash, the guys on the first floor deal with the dumpster access for the collection truck."

"The second floor is kind of related; they import musical instruments from Vietnam. They specialize mostly in violin family instruments, of fairly good quality; they refine and set them up properly before shipping them out to customers in the United States. That's where Seymour and Ziggy connected; that used to be Seymour's company, but back then they imported large quantities of folk and classical guitars from Japan and later Korea. Seymour kind of lost interest and his right-hand man took things over and shifted to the violins."

"I ran into Mr. Chao downstairs," said Daria. "He mentioned that he was thinking of expanding into classical Asian instruments, since there's growing interest among young Asian Americans."

"Hey, I'll have to talk to him," said Trent. "A lot of those have really interesting tonal textures."

"This place is so cool! How much is the rent?" Jane was having a hard time containing herself.

"Twelve hundred a month," smiled Trent, "Utilities included. We get a big discount because of our duties."

"Why didn't Seymour ask Mr. Chao to watch the place?" Jane asked.

"Travels all the time," Daria answered. "Constantly visiting his suppliers overseas. Hey, Trent, did Seymour say how long the lease would be?"

"One year, renewable for up to four years; price the same if we perform to his satisfaction."

"Perfect," smiled Jane and Daria together.

* * *

Christmas break was a swirl of activity.

"Daria, are you _ever_ going to live in a normal place?" Quinn smiled, paging through the photos on her sister's laptop. "This place is even weirder than your old padded room."

"It was Jane's idea to use the mannequin molds as table bases and room dividers, and of course to use those hands on the wall by the front door to hold keys, coats, whatever. There were boxes of hands, feet, arms, all sorts of body parts."

"It's perfect for you, Daria," Quinn laughed. "Living amoung human sketches begging for stories to bring them to life."

Daria slowly let a full smile cross her face. "Damn, Quinn, that's beautiful."

Jake and Helen had offered to drive up to Boston, and help with the big move. Trent and Jane rented a U-Haul, with Daria and Quinn following in the Toyota.

"Are they still behind us?" Jane asked. "Hard to believe that those two voluntarily chose to ride together."

"Still driving straight, and not trying to kill each other yet, I'd say," Trent smiled, looking in the rear view mirror.

* * *

Only two trips up with the freight elevator, and all of the boxes and art supplies were in the flat.

"This is a nice place, sis," Quinn smiled as she checked out the rooms. "I can't believe you guys lucked into this. Things are kind of coming together for you, finally."

"In a lot of ways. It's a little strange, really. Things have happened really fast. Trent's doing great, he's got a job that actually pays him what he's worth, and he's got a solo acoustic gig at a club near Raft. It's almost like having too much luck."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Enclosure**_

"What are these things made of?" Daria panted. "This one's kinda heavy."

"These are old," Jane replied, "so I'd say wire, paper mache, and plaster. Maybe some have wood frames inside, depending on the pose. The _really_ old ones were made of solid wax and weighed hundreds of pounds, so we're lucky."

"Dammit, I'm losing -" The female torso they were carrying hit the floor with a crunch. Plaster shards rattled across the wooden floorboards. "Sorry, Jane, you okay?" Daria frowned, noticing Jane kneeling on the floor.

Something had caught her eye. She reached into the shattered abdominal cavity, pulling out wads of yellowed newspaper- and then withdrew a rusted length of iron pipe, about three inches in diameter and more than a foot long. There were caps screwed on tight at each end, and what looked like a coating of black resin over the threads.

"Looks like this one had a secret," murmured Daria. She rubbed her thumb over the black coating and carefully sniffed at it.

"Another inside, a smaller one. Think they might be dangerous?"

"Like pipe bombs? I don't think so; I don't see any kind of penetration through the metal for any kind of fuse or detonator. I think somebody was hiding something in this, and that's why it was sealed. This black stuff smells like pine pitch."

"This one was going to be tossed; the pile I found this one in was all broken or damaged. Maybe there's more in the others."

"Maybe, but this one was kind of pushed in the back, like it was being hidden. What made you want _this_ one? How did you even notice it?"

"It was different." Jane scratched at her nose. "You know how all these mannequins are made to be posed by moving the extremities around? The torsos are kind of vaguely muscled, since they all get covered by clothes. These are some of the oldest adjustable mannequins made; and they were among the last of the production in the 1920's. Pretty innovative stuff at the time. This one had a different look, as if the left arm would only look right if it were raised above the head. I saw the back, and noticed that the scapula were defined and then realized that the shape of the rotator cuff was completely visible." Jane indicated the spot on the remains of the torso.

"The surface looks different from the others," Daria agreed. "Not as smooth, and more realistic."

"I don't think this one was made using the molds we've found," Jane said thoughtfully. "The molds may have been used to create parts for a basic form, but the surfaces here were made by hand."

"You said something about a maintenance workbench around here."

"Over on the other side of the freight elevator. Yeah, let's take a look." Jane reached inside again and retrieved another pipe, an inch or so smaller in diameter than the first.

"These newspapers date back to 1929; these are from November and December of that year," Daria said as she smoothed the wrinkles out of a newspaper on the bench top. "I can get the smaller pipe open with this wrench, but we need something bigger for that one."

Clamping it in the bench vise, she managed to unscrew an end cap. "Looks like sawdust."

"Why would anyone go to the trouble of hiding that?"

"This." Daria had emptied the contents out onto the newspaper. Even in the poor light, shiny objects were evident. Picking out one of the larger items, she held it up.

Jane's jaw dropped. "Whoa, that is one hell of a rock." Taking it carefully, she turned it in what light there was. "Nice workmanship. The setting is really well done, and I'd bet it's a real diamond."

"Looks like a few more things," murmured Daria, "and this." She flicked the sawdust off a small slip of paper. Holding it up, an unsteady but clearly feminine script was evident.

_ For Elena; my love forever._

The sun had set, and Jane had managed to run an extension cord and clamp light over to the workbench. It produced just enough light to reveal a long iron bar clamp that had fallen behind the bench.

"What's inside?" Jane set the big bar clamp against the wall. Holding the pipe in the old workbench vise Daria had managed to unscrew the cap completely, and was peering down inside.

"I'm not sure. Looks like ash. Some lumps mixed in." Reaching for one of the old newspapers, she released the pipe and emptied it out. Stirring it with a screwdriver, she picked at some of the larger bits.

"Hey, look at this," Jane reached into the pipe and slid a small folded glassine packet that was curled around the inside wall. Carefully opening it, she uncovered a black and white photograph of a small, dark haired woman, holding a newborn baby girl.

"Jane, I know what this stuff is."

The pile of ash had been spread out, and a few blackened objects had been separated out.

They were nearly carbonized, but still recognizable.

Teeth.

"Should we call the cops?" Jane asked, clearly shaken. She placed the curled photograph on the bench. After a long moment of silence, Daria laid the slip of paper alongside it.

"What would they do? They don't have the resources to deal with criminal activity today, let alone something that may not have even been criminal eighty years ago. I don't think that saving cremated remains would be something that a murderer would do. I think that this was a cache for hiding heirlooms from creditors so that they could be passed on.."

"_The Stock Market Crash._ October, 1929, right?"

"This," Daria indicated the jewelry, "belongs to Elena."

* * *

"Let me get this straight." Seymour looked at his three young tenants across their improvised dining table. "You girls find a small fortune in jewelry hidden in junk that I told you you could have, throw out, whatever. You call me, and _tell_ me about it, and say you want to find this Elena, and give it to her?"

"It's your building, Mr. Katz," Trent said evenly. "Technically, I suppose you could claim ownership of the jewelry."

"If this Elena is still alive," Daria leaned forward, "she should know that her mother cared enough about her to see that she was taken care of. And at the very least, she should have her ashes. She might need the extra money to give her mother a proper burial, or whatever she decides to do with her remains."

Seymour looked at the polished mahogany box that Jane had made in the BFAC shop. She had placed the remains inside and had sealed it shut with hard wax. A small sheet of clear plastic was held with tiny magnets to the top, and the small photograph lay protected underneath it.

_I suppose I was just as idealistic when I was their age._ Katz indicated Trent with a nod. "You know, I figured this guy was alright when I met him. Makes sense that his sister and girlfriend would be the same way. Look, you guys decide what you need to do. I did say you could have this stuff, and I stand by that. If you want to give it to some old lady you know nothing about, okay. It probably is the right thing to do. Bernie should be able to pull the original sales docs for this place, and there might be some info that would help. I do know that it had gone into some kind of receivership after the original owner died broke, and I'm assuming that those names will help."

"Thanks, Mr. Katz," Jane said quietly.

"Tell me," he said, looking at the carefully made box on the table. "Why'd you go through the trouble?"

"Her mother _wanted_ to take care of her. I have to respect that," Jane said, picking up the yellowed slip of paper. Trent looked at her, seeing the pain in her heart, and Daria dropped her eyes to the table.

There was an awkward silence.

"You know, it's all a big Karmic circle, after all's said and done. You kids will do well." With that, Seymour Katz left.

* * *

_Good thing plaster just breaks without distorting._ Jane moved the lamp to better illuminate the edges where she was working. Sorting through the tray of chips and shards, she selected one and carefully positioned it, after folding the paper mache backing away from the edges. Working slowly, she tried different positions until the break line disappeared with a perfect match. Only a few tiny chips along the edges were visible. More small bits of tape held the new piece in place. The hole under the rib cage was now completely bridged, and she reached in through the large remaining opening and gently flexed the plaster patchwork, feeling the edges click into place and the breaks almost disappear.

A few careful drops of superglue locked key pieces into place. Putting a dollop of white glue on a fingertip, she worked by feel on the inside, smoothing the glue-softened paper mache edges back into contact. Confirming that the largest whole piece could still be fit into place, she began filling in the surface below the navel.

_Strange, I know Trent and Daria are asleep in the flat, but I don't feel like I'm sitting out here by myself. I thought it would be spooky out here, but it just isn't._

On the shelf behind the workbench sat the left arm, with its similar surface details; the search for the rest of the figure would have to wait for daylight when there would be more light.

Sitting back, Jane looked at what she had managed to accomplish. Unable to sleep, she had come out here and began to sweep up the broken plaster. It was not too difficult to lift the torso onto the workbench herself- it was lighter now, having been relieved of its iron burden. It was still heavier than the rest, though.

Closer examination had confirmed her guess. The plaster skin was thicker, and had been built up on the inside as well in places, apparently to allow the selective recontouring of the exterior. The surface did dip below the average torso volume, along the right side abdominal area, and below the left arm mounting plate. Grazing the surface with the light, she could see the scratch marks from the riffler files and coarse sandpaper that still showed through the pale, vaguely flesh colored paint.

The bottom, where the hips would be attached, had been added after the molded plaster halves of the torso had been joined together with plaster saturated strips of gauze webbing, much like the cast for a broken arm. Unlike the others, the bottom plate in this torso was wood, not a metal stamping.

People were smaller back then. The figure that this plasterwork sketched out in her head was almost childlike, although clearly an adult.

It kind of looked like Daria.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Closing a Circle**_

"Elena? You have visitors, dear."

The caretaker stepped aside to let the two young women pass. "I'm not sure how lucid she will be, she spends much of her waking time in contemplation. Please let me know when you leave."

Elena Stahlmann was a small, frail woman. Katz had been correct; there were names in the real estate file that had led them to her bedside. She had been at first cared for, then adopted and raised by a childless couple that had worked for her birthparents when she was born, soon after everything had come apart for the little infant girl. Elena's mother had a difficult childbirth, and had died two days after. Her father, overcome by grief and newly penniless, died of heart failure weeks later.

She had married, many long years ago, and had never had children of her own. Her husband, a gentle man, had passed some time ago, and had provided and planned well for Elena. She was looked after, although it had been years since she had seen any visitors aside from the care staff and the occasional polite passing interaction.

She had, of course, heard her own story from her adoptive parents, but it was quite another thing to hold proof of her birthmother's existence in her own hands.

The taller, black-haired woman named Jane reached over and gently removed the plastic plate that held the photo, and handed it to her.

A smile crossed Elena's face. A passing, half smile.

"She is as I have seen her in dreams."

The other woman, Daria, looked down at something that she held in her lap. After a moment, her gaze had come to rest on the small plastic frame on the bedside table. It held a sheet of paper, on which had been handwritten a few lines.

_When I awaken, it will be to hold you in my arms_

_I will be a stranger to you, but your heart will know._

_Dust in the air will stir to dance forever _

_After eyes close, too weary to follow the wonder._

_Stay until the morning sun comes once again_

_So you can know that I never left you all alone._

Elena watched the young woman's face as she read. She was a delicate, pretty woman. Her husband had thought the same of her when she was young, like this Daria, so many years ago.

Daria's hands trembled almost imperceptibly as she produced a small Asian brocade bag. "Your mother wanted you to have these, to make sure that you were provided for." She opened the bag, and unfolded a square of fabric upon which she laid out a collection of jewelry. She had lovely, slender fingers.

All of the pieces were beautiful, but Elena reached out and picked up a simple plain wedding band. She looked at it for a long time before slipping it on, next to her own.

Daria silently passed her a yellowed slip of paper.

Reading it, Elena felt her tears roll down her face.

After a long time, she gave the slip back without comment; the sensitive young woman understood. She picked up the frame and opened it. Elena passed her the small photograph as well. She watched Daria's face as she arranged them, and then closed the frame back up. She put it back on the bedside table, and turned it so that Elena could see it.

The women spoke quietly for almost an hour. Elena was glad that the flat her biological parents had lived in had survived intact, and that the odd series of events had brought them together. It pleased Elena to know that these two young women were happy living there. They were good people, to have come to her like this.

"Elena," asked Daria, "Do you have someone handling your business needs? This jewelry is valuable and needs to be secured properly."

"I have a lawyer, who sees that my trust is well managed; but I won't trouble him with this. I only wish to keep her wedding band," she smiled, holding her hand up. "Take them, I don't need them anymore; you two have your long lives ahead of you."

The two women exchanged glances. They were close; they could speak to each other without words. "No," said Jane firmly, "your mother gave these to you because she loved you and this was the only way she felt she could care for you. You need to respect that."

"Her intent was clear." Elena held up her hand. "This was the only thing I ever wished I had of hers, and now I have it. This encircled all that she loved. I truly have what I need, my dears, what would I do with more?"

Jane turned away, tears forming in her eyes. Daria stood by, ready to support her friend.

"I have no heirs, everyone that I have loved has gone before me," Elena said quietly. "For whatever reasons you may have had, you've brought me a great gift. You've closed a hole in my heart that I have tried to forget, by showing me that it was never there at all. You have brought me peace, and I can never thank you two enough."

* * *

Three weeks after the visit with Elena, Jane had completed her project.

The tilt of the hips suggested by the curious curve in the abdomen became clear after Jane had attached the left arm. The lower extremities and the right arm had to be rendered in new plaster, but it was clear to the artist what the original intent had been.

The head, as well as the bundled form of an infant, had been found amid the jumble of parts. She had assembled it on a heavy wood structure with hidden wheels, so she could move it as needed.

_Elena's Angel_ depicted her mother, laying on her side, left arm outstretched and her head resting on it. A newborn Elena was pressed to her breast, the right arm protecting it; the figure's face bent close to the infant's head.

She photographed it carefully, and brought the images to Elena so she could see it. The old woman's tears of joy had made it all worthwhile.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Coda**_

The two women sat on mismatched stools, looking at the plaster sculpture illuminated by the late afternoon light.

"You know that's kind of strange that it looks so much like _Fallen Angel," _Daria said quietly, perched on her stool.

"I think it's kind of strange that you look so much like Elena's mother. You know I didn't sculpt the head, and the body shape was largely there."

Daria said nothing for a long moment. _So little of this makes sense, looking back at it now. Still, it's as if it was all supposed to be this way._

"What do you suppose Elena's father was thinking when he started this? Why hide things inside a representation of his wife? He could have put them anywhere, if what he wanted was to hide them for awhile. The jewelry is easily carried, and who would begrudge a man the cremated remains of a loved one? How could he have been certain that he would be able to retrieve them?"

"Well, he had become unhinged by the death of his wife and the loss of their business. He was in no condition to care for Elena. Perhaps he felt that her mother's form and ashes would protect the assets that could be hidden from the creditors. He probably didn't have any money to even give her a decent burial, so he might have been planning to do it later. Maybe he believed that he could retrieve them after the appraisers declared them as worthless junk. Perhaps he purposely left it unassembled, just pass it off as broken parts. We'll never really know."

"I don't understand why this stuff wasn't just hauled off when the factory was closed down."

"Another thing we'll never know. Maybe things _do_ happen for a reason."

"What are you going to do with it? It's not in your usual style."

"It's not my work. It came together the way it _had_ to, based on what was there. Besides, it's too representational._ Fallen Angel _was intended to be that, but it was simply to make a point. I'll be using this as a reference to create a bas relief in bronze for Elena's marker."

"Appropriate, since Elena wanted her mother's ashes to be buried with hers," Daria said quietly. "It's too bad that she never got to see it in person. It really is quite beautiful, as the style goes."

"Accessible."

"I think it belongs here," Daria said after awhile.

"So do you get a good vibe about this place?" Jane said softly, looking around the open space, back against the wall that was the border of the flat. "It feels like _we_ kind of belong here."

"Well, I agree," Daria smiled. "And it seems that Elena thought so too. Mom seems to think that if we invest the proceeds from Elena's gifts carefully, we'll have enough to make a good offer to Seymour in a few years. At least a down payment; we could make a commercial mortgage based on the income from the rentals."

"It was kind of a shock to be mentioned in her will, when all we did was try to deliver what was hers to begin with. She never even referenced the jewelry."

"What do you want to do with those pieces? It seems wrong just to sell all of it off. At the very least, I'd like to keep something to remember her by."

"We could each choose one, and then sell the rest. The designs are very old fashioned, but some are just timeless. The emerald studs would be beautiful on you, and I'd like the ruby ones. And I'll vote for my brother getting a diamond. He might be needing one in a few years."

Daria just smiled.

The fading light had gone golden, the warm color brilliant on the pale plaster.

"I'd like to take a wax off this, and then cast it in bronze. It would look good at the entry to the Lane Gallery."

"I've got a feeling that one day, it'll happen."

_**the end**_

_**(Thanks for sticking this out- I realize that it's probably too long for the ideas I was playing around with. Probably could use some serious editing. If anyone wants to play with this, feel free; after all this is for fun. **_

_**-M1**_


End file.
